Marlene and Mahad
by Cloudancer
Summary: Sometimes the most beautiful love stories are the ones that are the most unlikely. For the first time ever, I try to tell the story we caught a poignant glipmse of in Episode 11. Can Marlene's broken heart learn to love a man she didn't choose?
1. Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

Her eyes were wide with apprehension. Thank Jichia she had her back to the world, which, surely, knew of her mistake. They must be glaring at her, red-faced with rage. Thank Jichia she couldn't see them. Their angry voices rumbled in her ears, like the relentless roar of the sea at the Palas Harbour. "Whore!" they accused. Thank Jichia she'd cried all her guilt out already. There was nothing left in her lungs but despair. But her heart beat thick and fast – much too thick and fast – she was sure they could all hear. He was right behind her, fourth from the left. Thank Jichia she couldn't see him. But she felt his every movement; every blink of his eyes, every clink of his sword.

Then again, it didn't matter a jot today whether he sobbed or stood silent. This was it, the moment her entire life had lead up to. And they were both powerless to stop it. Finally, she was being married off, splendidly and ceremoniously, with not a grain of rice or a drop of gold less than expected. The air was filled with perfume and the palace rippled with people. The whole country was on holiday today. She dared not look up at her husband. If she did, he'd catch the awful guilt in her eyes. He stood beside her with his broad shoulders pulled back, a mark of his military training. He looked sideways at her often, almost as though he were reassuring himself that yes, indeed, this pale, beautiful creature was his companion for life. He had never done _her_ any wrong. And she took him in deceit. Jichia would _surely_ strike her down one day.

Her body still thrilled with Allen's touch, and her legs ached. She remembered every detail of last night, every single sensation. The way he looked at her as she came galloping in to the Schezar villa, face streaming with tears, the utter despair in his face, knowing she was never to be his, and the way he kissed her – as if his heart would break. They sat on the bed, and cried together for what seemed like eternity. Finally, he found the courage to kiss away her tears, unbutton her blouse and take her small, firm breasts in his hands. They made love in a confused whirlwind of desperation, with the urgency of a thirst being slaked. And here she was, getting married to the Duke of Freid, making vows she didn't mean. Of course she'd taken care to spread his coat on the bed to absorb the bloodstain. But still, she was afraid that someone would come screaming through the procession, triumphantly waving a bed sheet as proof of her crime. But more than four hours of ceremonies, and not a whisper. The fear began to sharpen- maybe they were waiting for the most sensational moment.

How many times had she been told, that family and honour came before all else, even happiness? She had always been of a wilful turn of mind, though. But she was gentle. Oh yes, very demure. She listened with wide blue eyes, and no one dreamed that Marlene – Princess Marlene Erisha Aston, would _ever_ do such a thing. They didn't know of the mongrel puppies she'd sneaked into her bedchamber every time the kitchen dog gave a litter, of how she would trip Eries to stop her from getting to Father _first_ when he returned from abroad with gifts, the books of illicit passion she had stolen from her chambermaid's quarters, the time she had blindfolded the marquis' son and made him kiss her, getting drunk on sailor's ale in her room, with a bottle sneaked from the guards...she had lost count of the number of times she'd found a way to get her way.

No one ever said no to her. (They hadn't ever learned how to refuse that angelic face, with its wavy golden hair, which curled ever so slightly, or those trembling, red lips. Marlene knew very well, all she had to do was lower her head, and look up someone innocently; parting her lips a little, fidgeting just enough to suggest earnestness).

Had she pulled this one off, too? Could no one really tell? Now eight hours into the ceremony, and not a whisper. She hardly felt the rush she usually did after wrongdoing. She was numb. It didn't feel exciting, it felt suffocating. For the first time in her life, Marlene was overwhelmed by a sense of *wrong*. The priest gave a final wave of his starburst staff and blessed the royal couple. The crown of emerald and silver, the one her mother had once worn, was lowered onto her head. It was heavy, and made all the pins in her hair hurt worse than ever.

Marlene stood there, swaying slightly. The duke grasped her firmly about the shoulders, leant down to kiss her. But Marlene was too distracted to do anything but curiously study his brown hand on her gown. "Marlene", he whispered hoarsely, his voice cracking after having stayed silent for eight hours. She looked up, suddenly aware of his proximity, and panicked at the thought of his lips on hers. She twisted slightly in his grasp, and puzzled, he let go and lifted her veil instead. That one second seemed like hours, the veil of her secrecy being torn away, her life now her husband's – and he would find nothing there under the veil: no bride, but an empty pillar of air. Because she was absent from this marriage ceremony, she had retreated deep within her own mind like a delicate sea-crab, the outside was a shell. The Marlene-shell was kissed. His moustache was softer than she had expected, and his breath was warm. Normal human breath. Her own lips felt as clammy as earthworms.

Those who were close enough to the altar to see the glint of tears on Marlene's cheeks sighed with sympathy. New brides always cried at such moments, naturally, naturally. It was one of those expected wedding moments. She was a lily, trembling at the thought of being plucked, caressed, and carried to a man's bed. The crown cooed in sympathy. Naturally, the poor thing was full of the nervousness that came with innocence.

She was led off down the altar, towards her father and other relatives. They were beaming with pride and satisfaction. King Aston allowed himself a rare moment of tenderness when he embraced his daughter and kissed her on both cheeks, murmuring, "Be happy, my sweet", in her ear. Marlene reminded him so much of his late wife today. He nearly cried, checking himself with difficulty. Marlene and the Duke proceeded down the line of elders, receiving each of their blessings, sometimes a kiss, or an embrace, with a sprig of lavender consecrated with incense from Jichia's shrine. After the last aunt had been paid obeisance to, they turned to go back up the line, and walk down the aisle to the harbour through the crowds, who would now see her for the last time as Princess Marlene. After the wedding was consummated and she was crowned the Duchess of Freid, she would no longer be theirs. Marlene, still nauseated, looked up through her lashes at the long walk that awaited her. Doing that once was hard enough, doing it again felt positively frightening. She would have to pass by the assembled might of the Knight Caeli, proudly lined up, holding up their swords to make a crisscrossed roof over the heads of the newlyweds. Allen was fifth from the end, on her right, so close her long train would brush against his boots.

There was nothing to do now. She took a deep breath, steeling herself as best as she could. 'Oh Jichia, please help me now. Only for this little while. I am sorry, I am sorry. Only give me enough strength to walk now, exact your punishment later, when I have walked away. Away from his eyes. Away from my father and my sisters' eyes. Please. I must be strong for them. I can't afford to faint and give it all away." One step for each word of her prayer. Allen was three yards away. Now two. She was approaching him as she might approach an open door. He was her threshold; she would step over him, beyond him. She had to. Oh how could I?

Here he was. He stood like a dam, his back erect, holding back the deluge of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. He looked straight ahead. Having promised to himself that he wouldn't look away when she passed him by, he would force himself to watch as she left, possibly for the last time ever. She glided forward unstoppably, propelled by her husband's firm hand on the small of her back.

Allen suddenly wanted to leap out of line, swinging his sword in a shining arc, lopping off the Duke's head, forcing back the hysterical crowd, gathering his darling in his arms and fighting his way to the harbour. There, they would take the royal barge that had been decked out for husband and wife's stately progress, only now he would have to kill the Duke's retainers, while Marlene would frantically push the barge off the bank, and they would make a desperate bid for escape. The knights Caeli, his friends and mentors, would leap that distance and hijack the barge, but he would fight them off, every last one of them. Amidst blood and death their marriage would be completed. Wasn't he the greatest swordsman in Gaea?

But the momentary madness passed when Marlene walked by, without a heartbeat of hesitation. She was hard ice. If she had even looked at him, he would have been unmanned. But now his anguish vanished, leaving a hollow resignation inside. She didn't care. She was looking ahead, to the future. All of yesterday was a lie. It was as if the only guttering candle lighting his dark mind went out with a hiss of pain.

The gangplank, then the deck of the barge, then the two ornate chairs that faced out over the prow of the boat – Marlene registered nothing but a sense of relief. They were rowed out of the city's intricate maze of canals, passing under thirty-two bridges, each crowded with people cheering, waving and jostling for a view of her. A sudden view of the harbour, completely deserted, empty of the great trade ships for a day. The sun, beginning to sink towards the horizon. Marlene sat stiffly in her gilded chair, barely blinking. A leviship was waiting for them on a smaller island harbour. Before she knew it, they were off, on their way to castles in the air.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

Marlene was shown into a large, luxuriously furnished cabin a few moments after takeoff. Seven handmaidens undressed her reverentially. They were female monks from Freid's oldest monasteries, requested by her husband to give up their monastic lives to care for the new Duchess, who held the title of the Guardian of the Faith, along with her husband. The women were dark-eyed and dark-skinned, completely bald, but quiet and graceful. They introduced themselves to her: Sala, Chielo, Fareen, Sinuo, Kidetsu, Rigzin and Desket.

For the first time in hours, Marlene looked up with interest. The nuns were completely alien to her; she had never seen their like before, though she had read about Freidan female monks in her history lessons at the palace. They lived a life of utter seclusion, and seldom stepped outside their monasteries, believing the outside world to be a polluting influence for the spiritual seeker. Nuns were no mere token presences either. Each monastery had a circle of the Holies; the decision-making body that administered the business of the Faith. Half of them were mandatorily women; since women were considered the embodiment of the feminine principle, which was essential for male monks to assimilate, androgyny being considered the perfect gender for attainting enlightenment, knowledge of the male and female energies was vital to understanding the Universe, which the Freidans considered their god. Marlene felt awed, despite her numbness, that she was in the presence of women who were capable of such eminence. In Asturia, women were mainly ornamental, something her independent-minded sister Eries fiercely resented.

"Thank you", she whispered, when the women were finished dressing her in a soft cotton robe and combing out her hair. They were the first words she had spoken of her own volition since morning. The vows didn't count. The nuns folded their hands and inclined their heads slightly. After they left, Marlene thought she would curl up on the bed, but she found she couldn't relax enough to lie down. It felt as if she must sit on the edge of the bed, keeping a sharp lookout for someone would come bursting through the door, brandishing a bloody bed sheet and demanding her execution. Maybe she would have felt a lot better after a fight – a bit of yelling and screaming and flailing limbs would ease the tension in her body. Sitting in a miasma of unconfirmed fear was the worst. Compared to that, someone guessing her crime would be a welcome release.

Getting up slowly, the feel of the robe was strange to her. She never wore cotton much; in Asturia it was considered the poor man's cloth. Here, she noticed the nuns, her Duke, and his retainers, all wore richly embroidered robes of cotton, even the shirts and leggings were cotton. The Duke's turban was cotton. She wore nothing underneath the robe, so that was probably the source of her discomfort. In Asturia, undergarments were almost an obsession, and she had a matching set for each dress in her vast wardrobe. She had brought her trousseau full of silk gowns with her, but the Duke seemed not to have paid heed to that and commanded that she be dressed in a Freidan fashion. Thankfully it helped – the leviship being unventilated from outside air, it was quite stuffy, and her robe was airy and loose. She walked to a round window in her cabin and looked out. They were flying over Fanelia now. Fanelia sat in a fertile bowl of flat land, ringed on all sides by mountains. It was beautiful, she remembered, having visited it many years ago, when there was a possibility of her getting engaged to Fanelia's heir, Prince Folken.

Allen had then been her personal bodyguard, and she had spent the whole visit oblivious of Folken. Allen was newly inducted into the Knight Caeli, having stunned everyone with his talent, especially the King, who, in a fit of being blinded by admiration for Allen's fine swordsmanship, forgot to consider that the constant company of an extraordinarily handsome young man could be dangerous for his daughter. His lack of foresight was a folly he was yet to discover. Naturally, Marlene couldn't help but fall in love with Allen. At last, someone her own age, who she could talk to, who let her do things she ordinarily couldn't, like swimming in the bay, or climbing trees, while he stood guard, and deflected inquiries with a serious , "The Princess is attending to her toilet". The king worried she may have a stomach infection, and was quite puzzled as to why Marlene wouldn't let a doctor see her. Allen and she laughed together whenever they could. Once, they snuck out to the Schezar estate, (the wonderful thing was that no one ever suspected them of mischief, everyone thought she'd be fine as long as she had her bodyguard with her) which he had inherited after his instatement as a Knight, and spent a whole day doing as they pleased. It was more joy than she could handle, having been a lonely child after her mother's death – her sisters were far too young for her – and her wilfulness a disguise for her insecurity. Allen made her happy.

The sight of Fanelia aroused far too many happy memories. A wall broke. Marlene made a sound like an injured animal, and began to cry. The sun was now below the horizon, and the last blaze of light from the window seemed to shatter into a million shards of gold through her tears. Stumbling back to the bed, she threw herself down, wishing she could just die. Before she knew it, exhaustion overtook her and she fell asleep.

She awoke suddenly, startled out of sleep by something. Sitting up, she looked warily towards the cabin door. The room was dark, but someone stood at the door.

"We are half an hour from Freid. I'll send your ladies over to dress you", the Duke said. He carried a branch of candles which lit up his bearded face in jagged swathes. He turned to go, setting the candles down on a dresser. "I hope you are well-rested, my lady. There are many more hours of ceremonies awaiting us at home, and it will take some patience to go through them all. I can send over some lime juice sweetened with honey, if you like. I find it helps." Then he was gone, leaving the door half-closed behind him.

Marlene let out a long breath she hadn't known she was holding. Her face felt sticky with the tears, and her mouth was dry. "Home", he'd said. She didn't have a home. This man, this tall bearded stranger, how could he be her husband? She barely knew him, not even his first name. Everyone just called him Duke Freid, and she also labelled him in her mind as 'Duke Freid', like one of Millerna's botanical specimens. She sat vacantly on the bed for a while, till her seven dignified handmaidens came in. They brought the lime juice Duke Freid had recommended, she noticed, along with armfuls of clothes.

She was helped into a pale orange sarong wrapped about her waist, which shimmered softly with all the heavy golden embroidery in it. On her torso she wore a delicately shaped white silk blouse, tucked into the sarong. The join between blouse and sarong was hidden under a heavy belt of gold, from which hung little loops of gemstones. Her arms were bare, but bedecked with heavy gold bangles and arm-bands of gold above her elbow. A double strand of crystal strings went over her left shoulder. The top half of her blouse was covered with a narrow panel of cloth the same colour as the sarong, but this was not only embroidered with gold thread, but also studded with crystals. Marlene was curious to look despite herself, but it was considered inauspicious for bride to admire her own beauty before her husband could. Her feet were bare, but her handmaidens clasped little anklets of crystal around her ankles. She was scared to walk, terrified the strands would break if she moved too fast, but Sala gently reassured her. Marlene felt the clothes were far too light and easy to move in: important dresses were always uncomfortable, and she felt as if she ought to wear something difficult to breathe in or hard to walk in, so that she could do a bit of penance for her crimes. But everything seemed to conspire against her self-pity.

The nuns were quick and efficient. Within a few minutes she was ready, only her long blond hair remained to be made. Sala combed it slowly, easing out the knots, while Rigzin made her close her eyes so she could dab her face clean with some rosewater. If they noticed the tear tracks and the sticky cheeks, they didn't comment. Someone else was rubbing perfume on her wrists. Marlene opened her eyes when Fareen asked her if she wanted to wear slippers or go barefoot. Marlene stared at her in astonishment. "Why, is there a choice? Am I not supposed to wear slippers? I can't go barefoot like a beggar, can I?" Fareen looked at her silently. With a slight shock she realised that all her seven handmaidens, for all their regal poise, went barefoot themselves.

"In Freid, your highness, there is pride, not shame, in leaving one's feet unshod. It signifies acceptance and humility. And that one has nothing to hide, not even from the very dust of the wayside." At that moment, Marlene could have sworn Fareen looked into her soul, and knew her guilt. She hastily looked away. After that, of course, there was no question of her wearing slippers.


End file.
